


bulletproof

by oddishly



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-02-23 06:15:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 3,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23606923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oddishly/pseuds/oddishly
Summary: Some drabbles: starts, endings, inbetweens.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 39





	1. white

**Author's Note:**

> Drabbles! Me and [furloughday](https://archiveofourown.org/users/furloughday/pseuds/furloughday) picked words at random from a book and she wrote SPN and I wrote Merlin. Enjoy.

Merlin drew the curtains back to reveal a new, unexpected world.

“It’s midsummer,” said Arthur after a moment, rather unhelpfully. “It shouldn’t be snowing.”

“No, sire,” Merlin agreed, because otherwise he’d never hear the end of it. He swung the window open and leaned out. Snowflakes touched and melted on the back of his hand, and an icy breeze slipped past and through the room, carrying snow onto the windowsill with it. Merlin watched as a little white mound piled up next to his other hand.

“But I let the last sorcerer go,” said Arthur, a little plaintively, from the bed. Merlin turned. Arthur had propped himself up against the bed frame, a fluffy cushion behind him and the goose down quilt shoved to his feet like it wasn’t far below freezing. His sheer nightshirt was open to the waist, face clear and hair tousled.

Merlin forced himself to turn away. “I suppose there was something else he wanted to tell you,” he said, cheeks heating.


	2. penny

On their way out of the market, thwarted by an outstanding haggler that Merlin hadn’t recognised from out of town, his eye caught on something glinting in the snow. He bent and straightened with a penny. “Ha!”

Arthur raised his eyebrows at him. “That’s still not enough to pay for your little genie lamp, you know.”

“I know,” said Merlin. He breathed hard on the penny and rubbed it on his neckerchief. “But it’s still good luck.”

Arthur appeared somewhat perturbed. “Bit late for that, isn’t it? You already lost your lamp to that pale fellow.”

“Yes, said Merlin, and again, “I know.” He breathed on the penny again then brandished it at Arthur. “This will stand me in good stead next time. Since apparently being in the presence of the mighty prince of Camelot isn’t good enough--”

“Like I said, Merlin, if my father found out I was using my status to grant favours for brand new servants--”

“I’m not just any brand new servant, though, am I?” argued Merlin, feeling that if he was going to be rewarded with the role then he might as well get something out of it. “I’m _your_ \--”

Arthur was suddenly very close, smile slight. “My something, yes.”


	3. quickly

“Down, Merlin!” Gwaine hollered from behind his log, and shot an arrow through the space Merlin--oh good, the space Merlin _used_ to occupy. The creature bounded away, all nine of its legs moving at once to carry it over the nettles lining the river.

“Is it gone?” Merlin hollered back, still crouched on the other side of his own log lying parallel to the water. “Gwaine, if you hit me again I’m going to leave your sword out in the rain overnight.”

“If I hit you, you’d know it,” shouted Gwaine in return, a bit offended. “For one thing, you’d be screaming in pain instead of whining.”

“Are you sure?” Merlin shouted. The rain was getting in the way of making him out but Gwaine could hear that sardonic tone of voice anyway. “Because as it turns out, I’m not going to be going anywhere til one of you--”

Quick as whatever it was that Gwaine just shot at--only less hairy and more self-important--Arthur leapt over their log towards Merlin.

“Couldn’t you find a way to avoid it, Merlin?” Gwaine heard, followed by a lot of swearing and sniping and swording of the undergrowth at speed, like there wasn’t a monster with close and delicate hearing searching for them from barely three feet away.

Gwaine looked at Percival crouched beside him, and rolled their eyes at each other and leapt over the log together.


	4. eighteen

Leon lifted his beer. “To Arthur,” he shouted, loud enough for the entirety of the pub to stop and turn for a moment. “Eighteen at last.”

“Eighteen at last!” replied everyone else, and downed their drinks in a joyful shout.

Arthur, thirty years old today, finished his beer, a shot of something questionable, and what might have been a pint of water by mistake, then turned to Gwen beside him and said, “I’m afraid I’m going to embarrass myself. Back in a sec, what do you want?”

Armed with a drinks order for half the table, Arthur queued for the bathroom, a urinal, and then a sink, and was on his way to battle the students at the bar when he felt fingers wrap around the top of his arm. “What--”

He let himself get dragged through the crowd and through a door that slammed behind him. It was a titchy little storage cupboard, a wall of toilet rolls tumbling down one wall and a foggy window on the other. 

“Finally,” said Merlin, sounding a little breathless.

“Finally what?” Arthur asked. He had some idea. There were only so many reasons you ever got pulled into a storage cupboard. And it was Merlin, after all. His own breath picked up.

“Don’t be a dick,” said Merlin. His eyes were dark and considering, and he set both hands on Arthur’s chest and shoved him back a bit until he hit the mountain of toilet rolls. “Happy birthday.”

The noise rose and fell from out in the pub, and someone tried the door from the other side then swore when nothing happened.

“Thanks,” said Arthur, examining Merlin’s wide, smiling mouth, and shoved him back against the door again before doing anything about it. Just to be sure.


	5. strip

Merlin took a deep breath. “Okay. Go.”

“Go?” said Arthur, sounding amused. “It’s a bet, not a race.”

“Might as well be,” muttered Merlin. He was sitting cross-legged on Arthur’s bed, eyes tight shut and a hand slapped over the top to be sure. “Really feels like someone’s got to win this one.” The rest of their hall were outside in the kitchen falling down drunk, and Merlin thought he had plenty of experience with drinking games but none of them like this, with Arthur and a quiet CD soundtrack and a locked door telling the difference between something you could go back on and something you couldn’t.

Merlin leaned back against the wall separating Arthur’s room from Percy’s. “It just doesn’t feel like it’s going to be me who’s going to win this time.” He kept his palm close against his eyes.

“Are you sure?” said Arthur a moment later. He didn’t sound so amused anymore.

“Very sure,” said Merlin, and opened his eyes but didn’t take his hand away. Who knew what would happen if he did.

Over the sound of what could only be Lancelot losing any ability to say no to alcohol, Arthur said, “You’ve got to look eventually, you know,” then, “well, I suppose you don’t, er, have to--”

“I know,” said Merlin, feeling a bit ridiculous, but still he reached his free hand out to Arthur rather than uncovering his eyes.

He brushed bare, warm skin. It didn’t feel like a hand but Merlin clasped tight, feeling his heart thudding in his chest. Arthur took a breath.


	6. sorrow

A long moment after letting Arthur go, perhaps a little longer, Merlin stood up. “Right,” he said thinly, and set off in a direction far from the citadel.

Another long while later, some way past the edge of the forest and actually rather unfamiliar, surprisingly, Merlin caught himself just before bumping into a man wearing some very strange clothes indeed. He had something hanging over his shoulder and down the length of his body where a sword should be, long and oddly shaped. When he lifted it to his shoulder and pointed it in Merlin’s direction, it smelled of flint and smoke, and made a loud bang that Merlin didn't appreciate.

Anyway, Merlin blinked and brushed him aside with a hand and a bit of a bemused look, thinking that Arthur would have enjoyed the surprise on the man’s face, although he only realised that last part later when he caught himself walking through a field of men with newer, shinier, louder versions of the same thing.

Merlin kept walking and eventually found himself in a mountainous region of Albion, less rainy but rockier than the mountains of Camelot. He walked into valleys so deep that he never saw the sunrise, and only ever caught the sunset when he climbed above the treeline. It would have been so much easier to get where he was going with a horse, he thought sometimes, and a tent, because he’d need somewhere when Arthur came back, but it didn’t seem that there were many horses to go around anymore. Perhaps Gwen had had to commandeer them for a war against the north. Although if Merlin really considered that, he thought it was probably quite some time after Gwen had had need of horses. 

It was okay, Merlin thought, glancing out across the still of the lake as he walked. If he kept going, he'd get there, and Arthur would too. He just had to give it time.


	7. gardener

Arthur was kneeling in the dirt in the greenhouse with a trowel and a line of tomato plants. He had the look of Arthur’s dad when Morgana was being difficult, lips thin and cheeks reddening. Not that Merlin was going to say that. He was just thinking about it.

“Cup of tea?” he said, stepping neatly over the plank of wood that barred the greenhouse from local rabbits. “If you want.”

“Thanks,” said Arthur, turning and brushing his hand over his forehead--also the same way Uther used to--leaving a smear of dirt in his wake. “This isn’t supposed to be difficult.”

“No,” said Merlin, setting the tea down and eyeing the array of seedlings alongside the tape measure Arthur must have hefted from Gwen’s sewing kit. Gwen was going to kill him and Merlin wasn’t going to do anything about that. “Actually, Arthur, it seems like you just put them in the ground a bit of a distance apart. Not that I’m an expert,” he said, swallowing a smile and lifting up both hands in surrender at Arthur’s expression. “I’m just saying, you probably don’t need to be that exact. They’re just tomatoes. But what do I know?”

“You don’t,” said Arthur coolly, turning back to the plants.


	8. alike

Bells were still ringing across the citadel for more men to join the fighting forces, sunlight still pooling brilliant and warm throughout the castle, another feast in full preparation for the evening, and Merlin was half-asleep on top of Arthur’s bedclothes. He could fall asleep properly if he wanted to but he was enjoying tracing the canopy patterns with his eyes, trying them against the embroidery on the quilt he was lying on to see if it really matched. So far everything was twisting and turning as it should below and above him. But Merlin thought he should continue, to be sure.

Not long into the afternoon, the door to Arthur’s chambers quietly opened and shut. Merlin thought about looking, about who it might be and who he wanted it to be, then decided it was all too much work and whoever it was would declare themselves soon anyway. He squinted at the canopy again and followed it up above the pillows this time.

“You’re hiding,” said Arthur eventually.

“Obviously,” said Merlin, and continued to follow the embroidery with his eyes. He was completely sure that Arthur had never noticed it before, being much more inclined to get up and work late at night. Not like Merlin; Merlin was more than happy to stare stupidly up at the ceiling if he caught himself unable to sleep. “You’re the brave one.”

“I told you before,” said Arthur. “You’re the bravest man I know.”

“Yes, I heard you the first time,” said Merlin, annoyed. “That doesn’t mean anything though, does it. I just follow you around and make you meals after battles and polish your armour. And then do it again the next day. I’m basically here to make you look kingly.”

“You’re very good at it,” said Arthur. “And I’m not going to repeat that so don’t try and make me. You’re still not good at all the other parts of being a servant.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t try at all the other parts. I wouldn’t expect to be good at it.”

“Oh, that’s why you’re such a horrible manservant, is it?”

Merlin rolled where he lay to look at Arthur. He was sitting at the table in the chair a little way away from Merlin, sword belt atop the table but otherwise still all dressed up in the clothes he wore to court. He looked tired, and a bit sad and still a bit confused. Merlin supposed he would probably feel that way too, all things considered.

“Yep,” said Merlin, heart full. He got up to help Arthur, one last time.


	9. ruin

When Arthur walked into his chambers in the early morning, he found Merlin there already, standing by the window, tall and pale against the bright sky beyond. He looked just like he always did, shoulders hunched like he wasn’t personal servant to the king, gaze landing somewhere outside like he didn’t know exactly what he’d done, arms crossed, eyes the right colour again. Presumably.

Arthur thought about all this and about the last several days, and shut the door behind him. “Well?” he said. “Don’t you have anything to say?”

Merlin didn’t turn. His jaw was trembling though, so he was plainly listening.

Arthur drew a breath. He started taking off his armour, which he had no intention of sleeping in even if Merlin thought he was going to get away with leaving it on him, and nearly the tore his shirt when the chainmail dragged up the length of his body. His hands shook as he placed his sword on the desk and laid his fingers flat along the blade for a moment. “You could have told me, you know,” he said, picking up the deeds Merlin had drafted up and left on his desk that morning. “Some warning would have been nice.”

“Some warning would have killed you,” said Merlin, his voice distant like it was coming from somewhere beyond the window. “This way you can deny everything honestly. You didn’t know who you shared your kingdom with. It wasn’t your fault, Uther assigned me to you as a punishment to both of us. No one can really deny that, half the nobles still alive today were present when it happened.”

“Mmm, and if you had only ever shared my _kingdom_ that might have worked,” said Arthur. He flipped to the next document in his hand and frowned. “This is wrong. The Hestelcombe estate passes contingent on agricultural use.” He considered. “Unless—"

“Unless three blood descendants reside on the property,” said Merlin. He toyed with the curtain, still not looking Arthur’s way. “And I’ve only ever shared your kingdom. Mostly from you castle. Unless we’re counting all the times I’ve carried a tent for you on your horrible hunting trips, which—”

“Much of the lower town thinks you share more than my kingdom, or my castle, or my tent,” Arthur interrupted, cheeks heating. A bell was sounding in the far distance. “As you well know.”

“The lower town is a gutter,” said Merlin. He was still looking out of the window, the coward. “As _you_ well know. Every person living in the lower circle is a plague risk. You need to—well. At this point I suppose you need to leave instructions as to what you’ve discovered, and I’ll try to persuade whichever guards carry me to my pyre to think about what will happen to their dicks if they stick them in the women of the lower town before the next king deals with the problem.” His voice was growing rough. “And when you return, you’ll give their widows seamstress jobs here and there for which you’ll pay three times what’s owed, and their sons will be knights and their daughters happy as servants in the castle, and you’ll regret the deaths of their men.”

“That sounds very nice of me,” said Arthur, coming closer. He wanted Merlin to look at him. He wanted--

The distant bell was getting louder and less distant. Arthur didn't care. “All this, for people I’ve never even met or cared for in the past.”

“Yes, well,” said Merlin. He bowed his head against the window. “They’ll all mention my name and look tragic and you won’t be able to help yourself. You’ll think of everything you should have noticed in all the years you’ve known me and try to make up for something you never had a chance of seeing because I was too good at hiding it. I’m very good with magic, you know, I’m more powerful than any of the sorcerers you’ve killed since you’ve known me.”

Arthur was very close now. The beat of his heart was ricocheting through his chest, as if now of all times— “I’m not that soft-hearted. Merlin, very few people know of the catacombs below the castle. If you’re that good at magic, you could probably fake being sneaky when both of our lives are at stake.”

Merlin made a noise in his throat and looked at Arthur. Arthur wanted to shake him, hard, because the witch-catcher had to be close now and really Arthur had better things to be doing than running and hiding while Merlin remonstrated about how he should have hidden it better, or come clean sooner, or Arthur should have given Merlin up. Arthur really didn’t care. Where Merlin went, Arthur followed. Honestly that was very frustrating. If Merlin had said something sooner they might not have had to go anywhere. They could have stayed right where they were, in Arthur’s bed chamber, where no one entered except Merlin. Arthur could have done something with that. He could have barred the doors and let the bells ring.

Instead he grabbed Merlin in one hand and his sword in the other, and dragged them down through the passage Merlin may or may not have known about off the antechamber.

“I’m sorry,” said Merlin as they ran down the passageway. He caught Arthur’s eye, looking no more like a sorcerer than he had any other day of his employment. He just looked like Merlin. His face described some of anguish that Arthur might have seen flashes of, though, all the long ten years they had known each other. “I didn’t mean to ever cause you trouble. I’ve wanted to tell you for a very long time. You have to believe me.”

Arthur considered this as he followed Merlin down the dank spiral stairs leading to the water below the citadel. “Right. We’re going to have to talk about that.”

Merlin went pale. As much as he ever wasn’t pale. “I know.”

“You swore an oath to me, you know.”

“I’d do it many times over.” 

“Yes, well,” said Arthur, heart stumbling. He got them to the little boat that had sat in the water from long before his own birth, which Uther had shown him first at three years old and then every year after. The hooded figure sitting hidden in candlelight couldn’t possibly be the same person as twenty years ago, of course. “You’re going to have to. You lied the first time, you said you would be honest with me and you weren’t. Please,” he said to the hooded figure as he beckoned Merlin into the boat. The bells were picking up, far above them. Arthur tried not to think about what would happen to Merlin if they were caught. “I believe you will not reveal the fact that you have carried me out of the city, but—”

“Emrys,” said the figure over the top, and bowed calmly as he did something to ensure the boat floated away from the shore. “It is my honour.”

“The honour is mine,” said Merlin, a long moment later, voice thick, and took Arthur’s hand once more.


End file.
